The end is near! 53 days/7-ish weeks until JumboBaby's eviction date, and I'm seeing signs all around that he really and truly will be here sooner than later. A sampling:
1) Craft stores have FALL things out. No, I don't (often) shop in craft stores. With the exception of that bitchin' wreath I concocted last year (see September 24, 2007) I leave the crafting to the trained professionals at Pottery Barn. But anyway...they have fall stuff out! I parked outside a craft store today en route to another shop, and through the window I spied grinning scarecrows, bundles of hay, and wreaths of burnt orange leaves. That can only mean it's almost FALL- when babies come! Along the same lines, WallyWorld is clearancing the swimming pools and lawn chairs, and filling in those vacancies with displays of notebooks and crayons- BACK TO SCHOOL- when babies come!
2) We have a STROLLER in our house! Okay, so we've actually got a ripped apart box with 15 stroller pieces strewn around the dining room...details, details. I thought I might assemble the stroller, which arrived today, but upon further inspection decided it's a man job. But the pieces sure are cute!
3) I've outgrown some of my maternity clothes. Yikes. The belly is simply too big to fit under some of the more stylish "2nd trimesterish" pieces of my limited maternity wardrobe. Even the stuff that still fits is fitting me...well, pregnantly. I'm pulling my tops down, my bottoms up, and the whole effect is a very Farley-ish "fat guy in a little coat". I'm suddenly seeing the appeal of muumuus (moo-moos seems more appropriate, no?) I mean, maybe with leggings....? Not so much? Okay. I also spent a few moments the other day wondering why all my underpants had shrunk, and asked J if his underpants shrunk, too. Unfortunately, no underpant shrinkage occured. My butt is pregnant, too.
4) I'm pretty sure that at this point, an air mattress on the bathroom floor might not be such a bad idea. I spend the witching hours in an unconscious march from bed to bathroom, bathroom to bed, bed to bathroom. I don't feel so bad about occasionally missing my daily walk (on account of the 300 degree heat) because I get my workout in doing the potty walk. The kitties no longer sleep with us, so inconvenient were my frequent stirrings.
5) Increasingly frequent moments of panic in the middle of the night, much like my horrific nightmares in the spring of 2004 where I showed up to our wedding in sweatpants or forgot to order bridesmaid dresses or was left abandoned at the alter....the baby panic dreams have started. No, I'm not sleep stressing over the biggies- labor, delivery, the very possible risk of a major operation to extract JumboBaby- it's the trite details that disrupt my sleep. Sometimes I jolt awake in bed after a nightmare where we simply forgot to buy diapers. Once I dreamt that we got home with the baby to discover the nursery had fallen off the house, chunks of the room were scattered around our front lawn. The most disturbing was when J went to pull the car around upon our hospital discharge...then peeled out of the parking lot, never to be seen again. I sat calmly in my wheelchair, watching him go. JumboBaby and I bussed it home.
I could go on and on, but I'm fatigued. Another wonderful mid-third-trimester symptom...the return of 1st trimester fatigue. I'm actually turning into an infant, it seems. Eat, sleep, pee, cry, repeat.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
a funny....or two
I'm too lazy to write much today, but this was just too damn funny to not share:
Okay....one more. Because it also made me laugh so hard I thought I might pee myself, and because I think I once sat next to this guy at Lambeau Field:
(Courtesy of the fantastic Dot.)
Okay....one more. Because it also made me laugh so hard I thought I might pee myself, and because I think I once sat next to this guy at Lambeau Field:In baby news, we attended breastfeeding class last night. Yes, we. I'd heard the majority of husbands attend this with their wives, and decided J needed to have some idea how the whole thing works so that if (when) I decide it's too much work/too painful/too something or other to continue on, he may be able to keep my head (er...boobs) in the game. And for the record, well over half the hubbies were in attendance. That said, I don't know that we're much further ahead than we were pre-breastfeeding class. It was kind of like a junior high film strip (from which the instructor read verbatim) and just not quite as informative as I was expecting- basically a platform for the lactation consultant to pimp out her pump renting services. HOWEVER- we did sit next to McLovin. I shit you not. Had there been a tactful way to pull out my cell camera and capture this McLovin clone for proof....I would have. McLovin was hardcore about his breastfeeding. As his wife slumped in her chair looking bored as all get out in the row behind him (weird, right?) he took page after page of incredibly meticulous notes in his wirebound notebook. I caught him jotting down "cracked nipples...olive oil" as his wifey poo snored away behind us. I feel bad for our baby. While McLovin's baby will have parents with a notebook full of helpful tidbits to assist them in their feedings, JumboBaby will have parents who are still giggling about McLovin and his note takin' skills.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
baby, meet baby!
That's me (duh) and my mom's sister, Jodi. Never would I have imagined we'd be doing the "baby thing" simutaneously- providing my grandparents with their last grandbaby and first great grandbaby in the span of a week or so. Jodi filled the big sisterly idol role in my childhood- she convinced me to name my first dolly Patty PooPoo (later joined by Wanda WeeWee), let me wear her punk rock clothes in the 80s and even took me to Dairy Queen to show 'em off, and was the first person I knew who actuallly had a pair of ::gasp:: Girbaud jeans- pretty much the epitome of coolness circa 1989, right? Her 3rd baby, a girl, is due 3 days after JumboBaby. Poor girl won't ever get a date. She's got two big brothers, and now this same-aged boy cousin to scare off any suitors.
That's all for now. J's home today and cleaning the house. For the first time ever, I just don't feel that bad about letting him clean up a storm while I sit and kill time on the internet. I feel more pregnant by the day- very exciting, very exhausting! The Fred Flinstone feet I could do without...but I suppose it's all part of the experience.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
a premonition?
Or just your average dream, who knows. Last night, I had a very distinct dream that I want to post to my blog so I don't forget about it. In the dream, we went to see Dr. S in early September. In the next scene, we were in an ice cold Dairy Queen when the phone rang. (The Dairy Queen phone, not our cell phones, that would make all too much sense.) The Dairy Queen people announced over a loudspeaker that we had a call. When I picked up the phone, it was Dr. S's office, instructing me to check into the hospital at 10:30pm on September 10 to deliver the baby. I hung up the Dairy Queen phone and waddled back to the booth to tell J. We realized at the same moment that this meant our baby would likely arrive on September 11, which we both thought was kind of neat. Then I went back to my banana split, which makes me doubt the validity of this dream. A banana split is about as appetizing to me as a freakin' string cheese is right about now (protein, protein, protein....I go through a pack of those mothers a week, and it's getting miiiiighty old). If this were an accurate premonition, I'd have been chowing a Peanut Buster Parfait, extra hot fudge, pecans instead of peanuts. Then my blood sugar monitor would leap from my purse and smack me upside the head.
It probably means nothing, other than I have a very strong (and sadly unfullfilled) desire to go to Dairy Queen and that both September 10 and 11th have meaning (10th= grandma Rita's birthday, 11th= obvious). But just in case I am right, and this is some creepy mother's intuition at work....I'm on record.
It probably means nothing, other than I have a very strong (and sadly unfullfilled) desire to go to Dairy Queen and that both September 10 and 11th have meaning (10th= grandma Rita's birthday, 11th= obvious). But just in case I am right, and this is some creepy mother's intuition at work....I'm on record.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
happy 28th, J!
The J man is 28 today! Seems like just yesterday my best buddy (pre-boyfriend status) was turning 21, taking enough shots to keel over a man three times his size and passing out with his head in a spaghetti pot. Aaahhh....college. I'm guessing the big 2-8 will go down tamely, just a sugar buzz at most- thanks to his favorite chocolate covered pretzels prepared big-heartedly by yours truly, who thanks to gestational diabetes was unable to even lick the chocolate off the sides of the bowl as I slaved over his treats in a steaming hot kitchen. That's love, folks. I'll share a gratuitous shot of his adorability in celebration of his big day.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
just one of those days
It started with good intentions on Sunday. Knowing how much Henry enjoys the dog park (the main feature being the lake with more balls and dogs and mud than any Golden has the right to imagine in his wildest dreams), we trekked down there for some playtime. Henry can't play in the lake without drinking half of said lake. Said lake, apparently, isn't full of puppy-tummy-friendly water. Our dog park ventures are inevitably followed by a barf session later in the day. Sunday evening, Henry seemed okay. Tuckered out and refusing to walk upstairs for bedtime, but okay.
Monday morning....not okay. He EXPLODED during the night. From both ends. Not on the approximately 1,000 square feet of tile on our main floor. Ohhhhh, no. On the carpet. Brown, green, shades only seen in the gut of an 85lb monster of a dog. Carpet cleaners were called, carpet cleaners came, carpet cleaners collected an exorbitant fee....the carpets were as good as new. Phew. Henry seemed back to his happy drooly self, end of story. We thought.
Tuesday morning. 3am. I smell something funny. Faint, but definitely poo-ish. I blame my dear J, thinking the fried feast he ate for dinner wasn't agreeing with his tum. Up again at 4 (notice a trend? Yes, the hourly bathroom marches have begun), I start wondering if there's not something more going on. However, the idea of lugging myself back out of bed and down the stairs is unfathomable, so back to sleep I go. Only when we awoke at 7:30 and J headed downstairs to let the dogs out did we find it.....another EXPLOSION. I'll spare the details, but just believe me when I say it was not pretty.
I should have paid attention to the stinky omen on the living room floor. Stay home, it's not a good day. No, siree. I had plans. Some fun, some mundane, all necessary. The new mom-mobile needed Texas plates. Then to the mall for J's birthday gift and perhaps a bit of baby browsing. A pedicure appointment for mama, and a few other random stops on the way home. Wanting to get the un-fun chore out of the way, I head to the county clerk. Where, believe it or not, there's NO line! And I miraculously have each and every document necessary to prove that this is MY car, I haven't stolen it off the streets and driven straight to the county for new plates. Hot damn, I might get this accomplished without so much as a return trip OR a meltdown! Get this- I even got a REFUND! The dealership overestimated the cost of registration, so the guy tells me I get money back! Tell me, dear friends, when's the last time YOU heard the department of motor vehicles say "hey, guess what, we're going to send you a CHECK!" And the guy even SMILED. Wow.
I bounce out, as much as a woman rocking a fine set of 100 degree heat incited cankles can "bounce", Texas plates in hand and visions of the (air conditioned, summer sale aplenty) mall dancing in my head. Fire up the auto, and notice a little orange light on the dashboard. Huh? Tire pressure? Heave my giant ass out of the car, do a quick walk around, and stop dead in my tracks when I spot a tire...a very flat, undrivable tire. J is approximately 45 minutes across town and absolutely unable to leave the office to help- he's the only man on the job today. I can't think of anyone else to help. So I cry and cry and cry. Because seriously, what's more effective than sobbing uncontrollably in a desolate east side county office parking lot? When J quiets me enough to get a word in, he instructs me to call our insurance and utilize that roadside assistance program, the one I told him over and over again that we didn't need. I sit for 95 minutes watching handcuffed inmates led in and out of the building until the Pop-A-Lock guy shows up to change my tire. He should really be working for Nascar, because in 10 minutes I'm back on my way. A little tired, and no longer up for the mall as lunchtime looms and my diet dictates that I not go too long between meals....but there's tomorrow.
The rest of the day just didn't go much better. The pedicure place was packed and particularly noxious today, so no pretty toes for me. I pull through Chick-fil-a for one of life's simplest sugar free joys- my Diet Coke. Wait in line for-freaking-ever behind an Expedition packed solid with teenage boys, burn approximately $45 in gas idling, finally get to the speaker to order my DC....and find out that the DC is temporarily "broke". How do you BREAK Diet Coke? Augh! Shove it, chicken place! I come home to find the stains clearly visible on the now dried carpet (I was confident when I left the house that I'd scrubbed them out....not so much). I decide to nap for just a few minutes and before I have a chance to get comfy on the couch, I get a call from the groomer, where I'd dropped Griffin off earlier in the day. "Um, we have a little problem with Griffin." OF COURSE WE DO! Why not? It seems my little angel isn't a fan of the groomer, which he made clear when he tried to bite her. Oh, fantastic. She agreed to finish the job if I'd come supervise (aka- clamp his face shut so he didn't take her fingers off). Nap over.
Alas....I'm just blowing off steam. As a whole, life is good. I'm thankful that tire held out as I cruised along the interstate. I'm thankful I have a husband who cared enough to purchase the roadside assistance in the first place (he obviously did it with his auto-repair-challenged wife in mind). I'm thankful to have a house at all- carpet stains be damned. I'm thankful Griffin didn't really bite the groomer, saving us from a pesky lawsuit. I'm thankful that I, uh, have toes. Homely chipped toenails and all. I'm reaching a bit here....but you get my drift. None of it really matters, because I'm thankful that as I sat in that east side parking lot waiting and waiting, my tummy bounced up and down and side to side- reminding me that life is really truly amazing, and I'm really truly blessed. And coolest of all, I'm ALMOST 31 WEEKS!!! We've got less than 10 weeks until we're holding the (seemingly very squirmy) little guy!! Here's a photo from last weekend, 30 weeks, and happy. So very very happy.
Monday morning....not okay. He EXPLODED during the night. From both ends. Not on the approximately 1,000 square feet of tile on our main floor. Ohhhhh, no. On the carpet. Brown, green, shades only seen in the gut of an 85lb monster of a dog. Carpet cleaners were called, carpet cleaners came, carpet cleaners collected an exorbitant fee....the carpets were as good as new. Phew. Henry seemed back to his happy drooly self, end of story. We thought.
Tuesday morning. 3am. I smell something funny. Faint, but definitely poo-ish. I blame my dear J, thinking the fried feast he ate for dinner wasn't agreeing with his tum. Up again at 4 (notice a trend? Yes, the hourly bathroom marches have begun), I start wondering if there's not something more going on. However, the idea of lugging myself back out of bed and down the stairs is unfathomable, so back to sleep I go. Only when we awoke at 7:30 and J headed downstairs to let the dogs out did we find it.....another EXPLOSION. I'll spare the details, but just believe me when I say it was not pretty.
I should have paid attention to the stinky omen on the living room floor. Stay home, it's not a good day. No, siree. I had plans. Some fun, some mundane, all necessary. The new mom-mobile needed Texas plates. Then to the mall for J's birthday gift and perhaps a bit of baby browsing. A pedicure appointment for mama, and a few other random stops on the way home. Wanting to get the un-fun chore out of the way, I head to the county clerk. Where, believe it or not, there's NO line! And I miraculously have each and every document necessary to prove that this is MY car, I haven't stolen it off the streets and driven straight to the county for new plates. Hot damn, I might get this accomplished without so much as a return trip OR a meltdown! Get this- I even got a REFUND! The dealership overestimated the cost of registration, so the guy tells me I get money back! Tell me, dear friends, when's the last time YOU heard the department of motor vehicles say "hey, guess what, we're going to send you a CHECK!" And the guy even SMILED. Wow.
I bounce out, as much as a woman rocking a fine set of 100 degree heat incited cankles can "bounce", Texas plates in hand and visions of the (air conditioned, summer sale aplenty) mall dancing in my head. Fire up the auto, and notice a little orange light on the dashboard. Huh? Tire pressure? Heave my giant ass out of the car, do a quick walk around, and stop dead in my tracks when I spot a tire...a very flat, undrivable tire. J is approximately 45 minutes across town and absolutely unable to leave the office to help- he's the only man on the job today. I can't think of anyone else to help. So I cry and cry and cry. Because seriously, what's more effective than sobbing uncontrollably in a desolate east side county office parking lot? When J quiets me enough to get a word in, he instructs me to call our insurance and utilize that roadside assistance program, the one I told him over and over again that we didn't need. I sit for 95 minutes watching handcuffed inmates led in and out of the building until the Pop-A-Lock guy shows up to change my tire. He should really be working for Nascar, because in 10 minutes I'm back on my way. A little tired, and no longer up for the mall as lunchtime looms and my diet dictates that I not go too long between meals....but there's tomorrow.
The rest of the day just didn't go much better. The pedicure place was packed and particularly noxious today, so no pretty toes for me. I pull through Chick-fil-a for one of life's simplest sugar free joys- my Diet Coke. Wait in line for-freaking-ever behind an Expedition packed solid with teenage boys, burn approximately $45 in gas idling, finally get to the speaker to order my DC....and find out that the DC is temporarily "broke". How do you BREAK Diet Coke? Augh! Shove it, chicken place! I come home to find the stains clearly visible on the now dried carpet (I was confident when I left the house that I'd scrubbed them out....not so much). I decide to nap for just a few minutes and before I have a chance to get comfy on the couch, I get a call from the groomer, where I'd dropped Griffin off earlier in the day. "Um, we have a little problem with Griffin." OF COURSE WE DO! Why not? It seems my little angel isn't a fan of the groomer, which he made clear when he tried to bite her. Oh, fantastic. She agreed to finish the job if I'd come supervise (aka- clamp his face shut so he didn't take her fingers off). Nap over.
Alas....I'm just blowing off steam. As a whole, life is good. I'm thankful that tire held out as I cruised along the interstate. I'm thankful I have a husband who cared enough to purchase the roadside assistance in the first place (he obviously did it with his auto-repair-challenged wife in mind). I'm thankful to have a house at all- carpet stains be damned. I'm thankful Griffin didn't really bite the groomer, saving us from a pesky lawsuit. I'm thankful that I, uh, have toes. Homely chipped toenails and all. I'm reaching a bit here....but you get my drift. None of it really matters, because I'm thankful that as I sat in that east side parking lot waiting and waiting, my tummy bounced up and down and side to side- reminding me that life is really truly amazing, and I'm really truly blessed. And coolest of all, I'm ALMOST 31 WEEKS!!! We've got less than 10 weeks until we're holding the (seemingly very squirmy) little guy!! Here's a photo from last weekend, 30 weeks, and happy. So very very happy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
